


Thedosian Lunar New Year Shorts

by Ballades



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Kirkwall, Lunar New Year, Magic Meta, Ostwick, Thedosian Lunar New Year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-09-28 00:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10060247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ballades/pseuds/Ballades
Summary: Little stories of Aeveth, Taka, and how they celebrate the Lunar New Year in Thedas.  Now with Trevelyan family drama!This fits into theQuestionable ChemistryandUntold Stories of Thedastimelines.





	1. Late Wintermarch, 9:49

The noodles stretched impossibly long between the master’s hands, their floury lengths sagging into a dangerously strained smile every time he pulled. Taka watched, hand to his mouth, as the strands were manipulated with expert care, growing thinner and thinner with every pass.

“They’re going to break,” Aeveth murmured beside him, as riveted by the performance as he.

“They’re not going to break,” Taka replied, leaning forward. “I’ve seen him do this hundreds of times. They don’t break unless he wants them to.”

“Hundreds of times?” Aeveth turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “Shirking your duties as a warden, are you?”

“Oh, come now,” Taka said, eyes following the loop and bounce of the noodles. Finally, the master coiled them into a deep mesh strainer and dropped it into a vat of merrily-boiling water. “Allow me some hyperbole, cousin. At least dozens of times. I eat here whenever I visit your parents.”

Aeveth scowled faintly but said nothing, folding her right arm over her stomach, her hand disappearing into the emptiness of her lightly-belled left sleeve. They waited until Taka received his bowl, the ambient noise of the crowded market filling the space between them. Behind them, people dressed in their new year’s finest jostled and elbowed each other, shouting greetings across the packed lanes, strung thickly overhead with countless red flags.

“There’s a spot!” Taka exclaimed, jerking his head at a pair of women just barely leaving their stools. “Quick, cousin. Get it before - go, go! Hustle!” 

Aeveth obliged him, practically scurrying over to the plain, wooden table with half the varnish worn off, plopping herself onto one of the two empty rickety stools. “Taken!” she sang out, her voice pitched so that it would carry. She hooked her foot around the leg of the other stool and glared at another pair as Taka approached, holding his bowl carefully.

“My thanks. I can’t imagine eating this out there without hurting myself.” Taka pulled a pair of eating-sticks from a tall glass on the table, gazed adoringly at his bowl, and sighed loudly. “Want some?”

“Maker, no. If I eat more, I’ll split the seams of this dress - for the love of the Maker, Taka, have some manners!” 

Taka grinned around his mouthful, the noodles unbroken lines connecting his lips and the soup. Aeveth made a face and raised her arm to shield herself from him, the rich red silk of her sleeve a barrier. He slurped for effect and made a show of enjoying himself.

“I can’t be seen in public with you,” Aeveth muttered.

He found a napkin and wiped off his chin. “But I can definitely be seen in public with you! The dress looks perfect on you, by the way. No matter how many dishes you’ve crammed into yourself tonight.” There must have been a negative space into which all the food had disappeared, he determined. Despite sitting at a common table in the night market, Aeveth looked every inch a noblewoman, her slender form housed in a well-fitted, high-collared dress. Delicate tree branches with plum blossoms picked out in silver and gold glittered and shone with every shift of her body. Polished carnelians hung from her ears and her elaborately-styled hair; atop her head was an intricate golden hairpiece, culminating in a jade pendant that rested in the center of her forehead.

Aeveth laughed. “I’m testing this tailor’s limits, that much is true. It’s really too bad I can’t wear what you’re wearing.”

“Yes,” Taka said, glancing at his less-complicated outfit, a simple silk shirt in garnet, embroidered in gold. Golden frog closures marched down the front. “I’ve allowance in the waist of the pants as well. You look uncomfortable, cousin.”

“Hey now,” Aeveth protested. “You’re the one who kept buying me things! Pastries, sweet glazed chicken on a stick, sticky rice cakes - if I get this dress dirty and torn because I laid down and you had to roll me back, I’m blaming you for it.”

“Please don’t do that,” Taka said quickly, taking another bite and swallowing. “I’ll eat your share from now on, all right?”

She made another face. “Could you eat my share at the feast tomorrow as well? I’ll let you have it all. Then I won’t have to show up.”

Taka gave her an admonishing look over his bowl. “Absolutely not. This holiday is about family, and we haven’t seen you in almost thirty years.”

“Yes, well,” Aeveth said bitterly, her teeth gritted. “I wonder whose fault that is. You’re family enough for me, Taka. We could have done this in Kirkwall, with Bull and the Chargers, and Sera and Dagna.”

_And your husband,_ Taka thought, not voicing it. “I am as fond as your found family as you are, dearest cousin, and trust me when I say seeing my sweet sister’s face gives me no end of distress, not that I would show it, but we are family. This is a tradition that is unfamiliar to the others. And this is an obligation.” He set down his eating-sticks beside his bowl, sadly emptied. “Your mother has invited you, and you cannot refuse.”

“I know.” She sighed. “I just...don’t know if I can face them, after…”

“Veth-ah,” Taka said, and Aeveth’s lips quirked into a small smile at the endearment. “I’ll be there with you. You will be just fine, and we can drink ourselves into embarrassment as the night wears on, and eventually you will need to either hold me back or protect me as Raeneth recounts in painful, exact detail how I have been shaming the family for the last thirty-eight years.”

“Can’t we prank her?” Aeveth mused.

“Ah, dearest cousin,” Taka said mournfully. “I think it would be bad luck.”

“Probably.” She propped her chin on her hand glumly. “I’m glad you’re here, Taka. No matter what happens tomorrow. I’ve been retired, as you know. My skills are rusty.”

“I doubt that.” He smiled. “I’m pretty sure it’s built into our blood. You could retire as surely as a bird could stop flying.”

Aeveth snorted. “Please. Just tell everyone I’ve been idling my days away, far from intrigue, concerned with nothing but -”

“There you go, playing,” Taka interrupted her, laughing. “Who actually believes that you’ve lost the desire to play?”

“If I tell myself enough, I’ll believe it,” she responded, moving aside so that the proprietor of the market stand could take Taka’s bowl and sticks away. “We should get going before they haul us bodily out of here. There’s a long line.”

“Back into the trenches then,” Taka said cheerily, standing, offering Aeveth a hand.

“Back into the trenches,” she agreed, giving him a brief hug. “Happy new year, Taka.”

Taka kissed her on the cheek, ignoring the complaints lobbed at him from the other customers. “Happy new year, Veth-ah.”


	2. Chapter 2

The wicker steamer, Aeveth decided, was evil.

Every part of it, from its circular yellow confines to the top with its woven reeds. The way the trays could stack on top of themselves: that was evil. How they could withstand the gouts of steam passing through, the misty vapor carrying tantalizing scents: that was evil as well. Especially evil were the things that hid within, evil within evil, evil layered upon evil.

Truly, she thought, this was a challenge well-suited to the former Inquisitor. She would have no choice. She would face this menace head-on, and defeat pure evil with her mouth. Not since the Exalted Council had there been such a threat.

The cook hauled the steamers off the pan of boiling water and pulled the lid off the topmost layer. Steam bloomed up in clouds, and Aeveth glimpsed round golden sponge cakes in white paper wrappers, smelled the faintly honeyed scent, could almost taste the sweetness of condensed milk on her tongue, married perfectly to a light soft give that never failed to make her sigh with pleasure.

Evil, all of it. Her stomach was up to the job. The next layer was full of dumplings, each small enough to fit in the center of her palm. Their translucent skins gave off an air of innocence, allowing the pink and coral of the shrimp nestled inside to peek faintly through. Naturally these went against the Maker’s will; they had to be vanquished between her molars. She would call upon a Rivaini dark sauce, fermented and salty and laced liberally with ginger, for support.

“Eating with your eyes again?” asked Taka.

“Shut up, Taka,” Aeveth muttered, her gaze landing on the contents of the third layer, leaf-wrapped tetrahedrons bound with twine, the foulest dark green she had ever beheld. She would destroy these also, these abominations of savory sticky rice, these demonic chimaeras of stewed pork and egg yolk and broth-infused mushrooms.

“Cook would let you take some, I’m sure,” Taka whispered to her, his chin touching her shoulder. “But I thought you wanted to keep your dress from bursting.”

Aeveth elbowed her cousin rudely, the way she used to when she was six. “I can change to the looser robes for dinner. Go away, Takaleth. This is all mine.”

He leaned back and laughed loudly then, his hands on his hips. “I know you were conflicted about coming back here, Aeveth, but Maker’s mercy, I haven’t seen you like this in years. You were always so repressed in Skyhold.”

“I stole from the kitchens every now and then,” Aeveth protested, scowling hard enough at Taka to set swinging the beads dangling from her headdress.

“It’s just quite the sight, you dressed like this for the holiday, peeking around the door of the kitchen like a child.” Taka grinned at the cook, addressing her. “Auntie, how about it? Can Veth-ah and I have some?”

“With that face and the new year, how can I refuse?” the cook replied. “Come, come in, Veth-ah. You haven’t changed a bit. These are still your favorites, aren’t they?” She held out one of the sponge cakes.

Aeveth swallowed down the sudden bitterness needling her chest. “Yes, Auntie,” she said softly, walking forward, holding her hand out. “They are.”

“It’s good that you’re home,” the cook said, deft hands moving quickly, setting the food on plates.

“Yes,” Aeveth said, peeling the wrapper off the cake, electing not to contradict the cook. Kirkwall was home, not the Trevelyan compound at the foot of the Vimmarks. Kirkwall did not have in it the people who sent her away in fear.

Aeveth inhaled, closing her eyes, lifting the cake to her mouth. The first bite was too hot, almost scalding. The flavor burst sweet and singing on her tastebuds, stirring her memories from their buried places. Maker, it was good.

“Welcome home, Veth-ah,” Taka said, his mouth full of cake.


	3. Paper Lanterns

Aeveth let the flame dance above the tip of her finger, observing as it flickered and snapped to the stir of her breath. For a moment she ignored everything else around her but the thin thread of the Fade she had plucked through the weave of the Veil, working it with her mind until it was spun into enough reality to light the wick of the lantern Taka held.

“Aeveth, are you going to light this, or are you going to keep making your family uncomfortable?” Taka rustled the large paper lantern dangling from his fingers.

“I’m going to light it,” Aeveth said, “though you know full well which option I would prefer.”

“Come now,” Taka said pleasantly, despite the brief narrowing of his eyes. “It’s the last night of the new year. Be courteous for a little while longer.”

She knelt, heedless of the muddy winter ground. Tomorrow the silken robe she wore would be taken and laundered, as well as the jacket and the wide belt from which hung a family heirloom, five skillfully carved pieces of jadeite strung between complicated decorative knots. It was petty, she knew, but she had lost patience with her family some time between the backhanded compliments over tea and the insistence that she have children. Dirtying the robe was not going to make her mother any less derisive, nor her father any less cold, but it would help her feel better.

“There it goes,” Taka murmured as the small, thickly layered square of waxed papers took up the flame. He held the lantern away from his body as it inflated, waiting for it to gain enough hot air to float.

From further away came an annoyed click. “It keeps blowing out,” Kelith muttered, striking another match.

“Aeveth,” Taka whispered. “Quit it.”

She blinked once at him. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” Behind her, Kelith’s match guttered out. 

“I think it’s ready to go. Make a wish, Taka.”

“Oh no,” he said. “I won’t crowd your wish tonight, Veth-ah. Not with your mood. You might conjure a nightmare for me if mine gets granted first.”

“You know that isn’t possible,” Aeveth said, taking the lantern from her cousin.

“I see how it is. You have not said you wouldn’t.” Taka gestured for a servant to bring him another lantern.

A sharp crack; fire sprang to life. Without looking Aeveth snuffed it out again, a smile spreading on her face at Kelith’s frustrated hiss. She closed her eyes and made her wish, then released her lantern into the sky. It floated away, a gentle white star trailing smoke, the translucent paper diffusing the light of the brightly burning heart within.

“What did you wish for?” Taka asked, unfolding another lantern.

“That’s a secret,” Aeveth replied.

Keltih cleared his throat quietly. “Sister, you seem to have met with success.”

She turned to face her brother. Spent matches littered the ground by his feet. “That I have. Do you need help with this simple task?”

Her parents each looked at her then, and Aeveth saw in them the proud lines of their respective families, their heritages running strong and deep through the Chantry and the Order. She grinned, showing teeth, then lifted her right arm, her sleeve falling away. Flame burst into a brilliant wreath around her hand, reflecting in the mirrors of her family’s eyes.

Taka, ever her co-conspirator, offered his lantern first. Aeveth focused down her flame, imagined that it was fueled by her family’s discomfort at the obvious display of magic.

“Here’s to going home, Veth-ah.” Taka smile was full of contrition.

_Good,_ Aeveth thought. _He was the one who strong-armed me into coming._

“To going home, Taka,” Aeveth said, putting her back to her brother and mother and father, lighting the wick of the lantern. Together they watched it climb into the sky, a second celestial body chasing the first.


	4. A Gathering of Family, early Guardian, 9:50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wren and Sparrow join the Lunar New Year festivities for the first time, bringing with them their own customs.
> 
> Many thanks to Junebug for the sensitivity reading!

The banana leaves were out of reach. Wren, her hands occupied with shaping ground beans around seasoned pork belly, looked over at the far counter and frowned to herself.

“Sparrow sweet,” she called over the low din of a busy kitchen. Wren could get the leaves herself, but it was her motherly duty to make her daughter do the small tasks.

No response. “Sparrow sweet,” Wren called again, turning her head so she could see her daughter perched on a stool at the baker’s table, frowning over a book, her quill tapping freckles into blank parchment. Beside her was a small plate heaped high with steamed buns.

“For the last time, Sparrow sweet,” Wren said, keeping the annoyance from creeping into her voice. When she was a child, she would have jumped and ran the second she heard her name. Then again, her mother had hollered with enough force to shake the thatch on the house, and wielded the switch with the same strength. Wren at least gave her child several chances.

“Sparrow!”

Sparrow blinked and looked up, startled at the sharpness in her mother’s voice. “Yes, mama?”

“Could you bring the banana leaves over please?”

“Uh huh.” Sparrow dropped her quill point down, adding another dot to her collection, and slid off her stool. Wren waited, watching as Sparrow scooped up the stack of cut and washed leaves, and wove her way around kitchenhands to Wren’s station. In her village they would have used reeds, but the reeds were long gone from Kirkwall’s harbor and the water was filthy besides. The Iron Bull had suggested banana leaves from Par Vollen. How he managed to get such a large quantity of them was a mystery to her.

“Is that gonna be enough for everyone, mama?” Sparrow eyeballed the huge pot of soaked sticky rice sitting at the other end of the station.

“Should be,” Wren replied, setting down the last section of filling, wiping her hands on the rag dangling from the pocket of her apron. She should wash her hands, but the sink was on the other side of the kitchen, and she was already tired from making the filling. There was yet enough work ahead of her that she didn’t feel like walking over either. Perhaps, she thought, she should have set up closer. No matter how many times she’d been in Sanctuary’s kitchen, she still hadn’t acclimated to its size.

“I should have everyone counted,” Wren continued, surveying her workspace. “Cook Bea and her staff, us, Liren, Aeveth and Michel, the Chargers, Sera and Dagna, Hillas, Rylen…” She held out a hand and ticked off fingers. “The stablehands, Aeveth’s family -”

“I hope Auntie Aeveth likes them,” Sparrow cut in.

“- Imara and Isabela - “

“We should make one for Gavin too and Hillas has a new girlfriend.”

“- Gavin isn’t scheduled to come back yet and Hillas has a new girlfriend? You didn’t think to introduce me? And how do you already know about these things?” Wren paused to level a look at her daughter.

Sparrow made a face at her, twisting her lips to the side. “I’m almost ten, mama, I’m not a baby. And I know because Hillas smiles a lot when she sees her. I saw them kissing, too.”

“Sparrow!” Wren exclaimed, scandalized. “You spied on them?”

“It’s not spying when they do it in the courtyard.” Sparrow squirmed, reaching out to poke at the leaves.

“Fine then, we should have enough for Hillas and her new girlfriend, and quit staring at people when they’re having a private moment.” Wren leveled a second look at Sparrow.

Sparrow responded with a disgusted noise. “I wasn’t staring! Mara and Bela do the same thing - “

“All right, all right, enough!” Her daughter was nine and a half, and growing up too fast. Kissing, Maker be good. Wren frowned.

The same frown appeared on Sparrow’s face, and Wren could see her own stubbornness in it. She sighed. “Fetch the twine, sweet. I’m going to start putting these together.”

“It’s a lot,” Sparrow replied, looking around her. “Aren’t the cooks going to help you?”

Wren raised an eyebrow. “No, you are. They’re busy with dinner preparation. And this is our tradition, not theirs.”

“But it’s supposed to be for family. Isn’t Sanctuary like family to us?” The stubbornness only grew, deepening Sparrow’s frown, causing her to fold her arms over her chest and set her jaw.

“Our village,” Wren began.

“They’re not our family.”

Delivered like a shock of icy water. Wren drew a sharp breath, knocked off balance. “Sparrow! We have family in the village, and the rest -”

“What about them?” Sparrow threw a defiant glare. “You don’t write. We don’t visit. We haven’t seen grandmother. We had to leave because you were afraid, mama. If they were family they wouldn’t make you scared.”

Defensive, Wren said, “I wasn’t - it’s complicated, Sparrow. We’re going back eventually. Maybe your father has even -”

“Mama -”

“Don’t interrupt me, child. Maybe your father -”

“Ma! Stop it -”

“I said _don’t interrupt me,_ Sparrow! He might have returned -”

“I know he’s dead!”

Wren stopped as if struck, her words rattling to stillness in her throat. She blinked, eyelids flicking over too-wide eyes, the shock snatching away her breath, her pulse a pounding bass drum in her ears. Sparrow was no better. This close, Wren could detect every rush of her blood, every pump of her heart.

“I’ve never…” Wren swallowed.

Sparrow’s gaze refused to settle, shifting over the floor, the stools, the counter. “You don’t have to keep lying to me. I’ve known for a long time. And the village isn’t our family anymore, Sanctuary is.”

Maker, Wren thought, still frozen, tears stinging her eyes. The truth didn’t hurt as much when Sparrow was younger and her cheeks were so, so chubby. _When did my baby get so grown up?_

“I’m going,” Sparrow declared, spinning on the ball of her foot, her thick black braid whipping over her shoulder. She sprinted for the door, heedless of the kitchenhands trying desperately not to look as if they’d been listening.

“Sparrow, your studies!” Wren called, but it was useless. Her daughter was gone.

Wren clenched her jaw, dashing her tears away with the back of her sleeve. When had Sparrow gained such a hair-trigger temper? 

Wren turned back to the counter, lifting a banana leaf off the stack, setting it squarely in front of her. Routine would quell the rest of her emotions, make her forget what Sparrow had said. Maker, she missed it when everything was sweet and Sparrow would cover her face with kiss after kiss.

No, Wren admonished herself. Tonight was the night both moons would be new, marking the beginning of the year. It was cause for celebration, not argument or sadness, and Wren was going to ensure the celebration had adequate food. One way or another, her eyes would be dry by the time she was finished.

First, a cup of rice over the middle of the leaf, bisecting it. Then the filling, each section of it less than a handspan long; these leaves would fit two. Then another cup of rice over the top. Wren pulled the edges of the leaf up, began molding the rice and filling into the shape of a cylinder, and...

“Shit,” she said, realizing Sparrow had neglected to bring the twine. Wren herself hadn’t even been thinking when she started.

She wasn’t about to bother one of the kitchenhands. Wren left her work, retrieved the pre-cut twine, and slipped a length of it carefully beneath the banana leaf. The first one always took the longest. Skills got rusty after a year without practice. But, she thought, her front teeth clamped around twine, it didn’t look so bad. Nor did the second or the third.

She was knotting twine around the fourth when she half-heard new voices in the kitchen. Aeveth probably, from the sound of it. It wasn’t unusual for her to raid the kitchen between meals.

“Wren?” There were two light taps on her shoulder.

“Yes?” She turned her head to see Aeveth. “Is there…” Wren’s eyebrows shot up half her forehead in surprise. “Um?”

“Is there anything we can help you with?” Aeveth finished for her with a smile, ever smooth. “We heard it’s a big job, and that you could use a hand.”

Wren tried her best not to look at Aeveth’s conspicuously missing left arm.

“You know,” Aeveth mused as if there weren’t an unexpected group of people crowding the doorway, “I hadn’t really thought about it before, but now I wonder: how come we don’t say we’ll be giving helping hands? Don’t answer that, it’s rhetorical. We were asked to help you, and here we are.”

“We couldn’t say no to Sparrow,” Hillas added, leaning against the doorframe. Beside her stood Rylen and the Iron Bull, Krem to his left, the Chargers assembled behind. In the back, Sera was stretched up on tiptoes, trying to peer into the kitchen.

“Move aside,” came Liren’s voice, faintly irritable. “I can hardly see.”

“Sparrow?” Wren said, incredulous. “She did this?”

“She did say it was family business.” Aeveth smiled and beckoned everyone into the kitchen. “As we are all family here in Sanctuary…we will help, of course.”

The doorway cleared until the only one left in it was Sparrow, standing with her hands behind her back. Wren pressed a hand flat against her chest, her nose stinging as Sparrow approached, suddenly shy. 

“My Sparrow sweet,” Wren said. “You must have roused the entire estate.”

Sparrow stopped next to Aeveth, who gave her a reassuring smile. “I ran really fast.”

Wren laughed. “I bet you did.”

“You’ll have to teach them, mama. We’re all supposed to make these together.”

“I will, sweet. I will.” Wren swallowed again, thinking that perhaps the little girl with a million kisses to give hadn’t completely vanished. 

“Hey, those banana leaves worked out pretty good!” Iron Bull cut in, grinning. “Thought they might.”

“Happy new year, mama,” Sparrow said quietly.

Wren leaned over, placing a kiss on Sparrow’s hair, cupping the side of her face. She had to do it while she still could, after all. “Happy new year, Sparrow. Thank you.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ties into parts of _Bloodsong_ that haven't been released yet, so I've made it as vague as possible. Regardless, there's some magic meta that will become important later.

The torch flickered and smoked, sending light skittering over the plain stone walls of Sanctuary’s second cellar. Though, Taka thought as he followed Liren down a gentle, curving ramp, he wouldn’t call it a cellar. For one thing, it was too large. Cellars usually didn’t have thick structural beams covered with faint, glowing runes, nor were they stuffed so full of magic that he could taste it on his tongue with every breath. The goosebumps tightening in sheets over his forearms weren’t entirely caused by the chill.

Out of curiosity, and as a distraction, he said, “Can you feel it, Liren?”

“Feel what?” She didn’t bother looking at him.

“You know, this.” Taka gestured vaguely at their surroundings. “There’s so much magic here. Surely you can feel it.”

“Nope,” Liren said, passing her torch from one hand to the other. “The effects, but not the workings. That’s why she prefers me to come get her. No magic, no interference.”

“Is anyone else allowed down here?” Taka glanced around as Liren settled the torch into a sconce, taking in the high ceilings likely of dwarven design if not make, the smooth, level floor paved in large, flat stones. No, not a cellar, this. More like a vault or a tomb.

He shook himself of the negative thoughts. The new year demanded celebration and life, not death, and to think this way only invited ill luck.

“No,” Liren replied, jerking her head towards the center of the vault, indicating that Taka should follow. “Just me. And now you, just this once. Top secret. You probably already figured it out, but you aren’t to speak of anything that’s down here.” She set off briskly.

Taka frowned as he walked. Some things never changed; Aeveth’s penchant for secret-keeping seemed to be alive and well despite her swearing up and down that she’d changed. Well, there had to be a reason for a secret like this one. He suspected it had to do with the volume of magic suffusing the very air.

“Of course not,” Taka said. “Just another cellar. Pretty drab, though. Reminds me of that time in the Deep Roads…” He broke off with a sigh, then narrowed his eyes. Beneath his feet, script in a language he didn’t recognize flared white with his steps, then faded. “I see why you don’t need extra light down here. Between this and the glow in the center -”

“That glow is Aeveth.” Liren wasn’t known for her subtleties, that much was sure. Taka suspected that’s why Aeveth kept her on. “Don’t be alarmed at what you see. Just warning you ahead of time.”

“Thanks,” Taka said, then cleared his throat. “I’ve seen many a strange thing in my time, so I don’t think I really need…”

He stopped still, pursing his lips. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Liren said. “Oh. Add this to your list of strange things.”

Aeveth was lying on the floor before him as if dead, her body shrouded in a luminous white mist that robbed her skin of color. About a man’s height above her hovered some kind of stone orb, lit from within with sickly green light. All around her runes and arcane characters pulsed and dimmed, and as he watched Taka realized they were part of a greater glyph that stretched from one end of the vault to the other.

“This?” Taka said, his voice gone quiet. “I didn’t know - all the magic here, she powers it?”

“Not necessarily,” Liren replied, kneeling next to Aeveth, reaching out a hand. “I don’t understand it. I’ll let her explain it. You might want to close your eyes.” She shook Aeveth’s shoulder. “Aeveth, I know you didn’t want to be disturbed, but Taka’s here.”

Taka barely squeezed his eyes shut in time, but light leaked through regardless, outlining the capillaries in his eyelids with a garish new year’s red. He heard Aeveth’s deep inhale, and at that a small shockwave rippled through him. He took a breath, then chanced cracking open an eye. Beneath him, the entirety of the glyph was alight, shining brightly in bursts like the beat of a magical heart.

Aeveth groaned as she sat up, the mist falling away from her. “You brought him.”

“He insisted. I know you didn’t want anyone to see.”

“He’s speechless, for once.” Aeveth opened her eyes then, more mist dripping from the corners, and waved off Liren’s help. She gained her feet, a touch unsteady, then pulled the floating orb down, nestling it into a groove on the floor that had been hidden by her body. Green flared across the glyph in an instant, chasing away the white.

“I was adding this to my list,” Taka said finally.

“I’m sorry, Aeveth.”

“It’s fine.” Aeveth came over to him, smiling, and folded him into a tight hug. Taka returned it, trying not to worry at how frail his cousin felt. “He’s family. Though this was not quite the greeting I was hoping for. Don’t tell anyone you’ve seen me at my worst, Taka.”

“I don’t think this is quite at your worst.” Taka grinned, offsetting Liren’s sudden, deep scowl. “I wanted to deliver the news immediately and no one knew where you were but Liren.”

Aeveth nodded twice. “I know the futility of keeping things from you. Don’t worry too much, Liren. Taka would have found out anyway. He’s the only one here without the sense to keep from pressing.”

“Ah, true. All true. You could never lie to me anyway, cousin. You always could lie to everyone else but me.” He smirked, then cocked an eyebrow as Aeveth took his elbow, leaning on him for the walk back to the main level.

“What of the news, Taka?”

He grunted. “I’ll tell you, but for the next moment, since I’m now obligated to keep your secret once we’re aboveground, I’d like to know what you were doing.”

“It’ll take longer than a hundred paces to do that.” Ahead of them, Liren was pulling the torch out of the sconce.

“Keep it simple for the dumb one.”

Aeveth snorted with laughter. “Still playing the charm angle, are you? You’re able to keep up with me, I know it. In short, some days I feel run down, so I come to the central glyph and use it to help me recharge.”

“You come down for a nap?”

“Essentially, yes.” She thought for a moment, her head tilting. “Have you heard of _uthenera?”_

“Sounds elvish.”

“Correct on that count. _Uthenera_ was the long sleep ancient elves entered when they grew tired of the world. Their bodies would stay here, but their spirits would wander the Fade.” Aeveth halted, blowing out a breath.

Taka helped steady her. “And you’re doing that?”

“Not quite. But I use the magic of the Fade to augment myself as I sleep, if that makes sense.”

“Not really, no.” They resumed walking. “Augment yourself how?”

“Just to bolster myself. To make things feel more real. Sometimes it’s all too easy to…” Aeveth sighed through her nose. “Truthfully, Taka, a body can only take so much before it can’t do things anymore.”

He kept the alarm from his face. “I thought you were fully recovered from your injuries from half a year ago.”

“Wren says I’m as good as new,” Aeveth admitted, “but I’m still exhausted some days, and I’ve been afflicted with something that makes my stomach ill. No one else seems to catch it, or if they do, they recover more quickly than I do. It’s this dreadful Kirkwall winter, I’m sure of it. Damp and cold and serving no purpose but to make all my old wounds hurt.”

Liren held the vault door open, and as they passed through Aeveth extinguished the torch with a wave of her hand. “Looks like your moment is over, cousin. What news do you have for me?”

“It’s about your father and brother.”

Aeveth’s eyes lit up. “They’ve decided not to come?”

Taka barked a laugh. “Maker, no, it’s the new year. They’re about a day behind and they’ve got a guest with them.”

“A guest?” Aeveth frowned. “Who could possibly…”

 _Work it out,_ Taka encouraged her. _Go on, I know you can. This is our family after all._

“Taka,” Aeveth said slowly, “does this involve an event that should have been announced well beforehand?”

He tilted his head, considering. “Perhaps.”

At this, Aeveth stiffened. “They wouldn’t surprise me this way.”

Taka shrugged. “To them, it’s not a surprise.”

“Oh,” Aeveth replied. “The announcement was lost en route, I see.”

“You _do_ understand!” He freed himself from Aeveth’s hold to clap once in delight, grinning. “You are so _smart,_ cousin.”

“They’re going to find Sanctuary distinctly hostile,” Aeveth muttered. “So much for a truce. Liren!”

“Yes?” Liren answered. “I’m right here, you know. You don’t have to yell.”

“You’ve gotten cheekier since last we met,” Taka said, thoughtful.

Liren’s answering smile held a touch of wildness. “Aeveth keeps us from having too much patience.”

“Maker’s ass, you two,” Aeveth said, teeth gritted. “Liren, prepare two rooms for my father, my brother, and my brother’s fiancée. Make it obvious that my father has the better room, and keep the bed in Kelith’s room small.”

Liren sighed, a long-suffering sound. “Anything else?”

“Have Sera booby-trap the room.”

“Now you’re talking,” Taka said, ideas already beginning to whirl in his head.

“I was joking.”

Taka let his shoulders slump in dejection. “Aw.”

“Liren,” Aeveth continued, “take half my personal collection of spellbooks and decorate my father’s room with them.”

He had to laugh, thinking of how profoundly uncomfortable his Uncle Laeth would be with so much magic around. “Speaking of, do your brother and father know how much magic you’ve built into your home?”

A slight smile from Aeveth. It could, after some study, be characterized as evil. “No. But I am now planning a lengthy house tour with detailed explanations of the glyphs built into every single square inch of the place, inside and out. It will be quite educational.”

Liren sighed again, and put a hand over her eyes.

“Aeveth Trevelyan,” Taka said, “I am proud to call you family.”


	6. Filial Piety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are never peaceful when the Trevelyans gather.

“Uncle Taka,” Sparrow whispered. “Is that Auntie Aeveth’s brother?”

“The one on the right?” Taka whispered back, pointing at Kelith through the glass of the front door. “Younger and painfully handsome, with a narrow-ish face and impeccable hair, doesn’t know what fun is?”

“No,” Sparrow said, rolling her eyes. “The old one who looks mad at everything. Never mind.”

“Glad to be of service.” Taka grinned at her, reaching out to tug on the thick black braid hanging down her back.

“Hey!” She frowned, indignant. “Who’s the lady?”

“That would be her ladyship Suira Daventine of Tantervale, Kelith’s betrothed.”

“She’s beautiful.” Sparrow pressed her fingers into the door, leaning forward.

It was true Suira was beautiful; Taka wouldn’t have expected anything less given his family’s standards. She was tall and willowy with skin as pale and perfect as a moonbeam, her hair and eyes dark enough to inspire poetry, or flowery comparisons to semi-precious stones. Taka was sure she was breathtaking to look at, especially in her slender dress of shimmery gray with puffs of white fur at the collar and hems.

Taka was also thoroughly bored with her.

“She’s all right, I suppose. Quit ogling, Sparrow.”

She scowled at him, making a face. “I’m not ogling!”

“Quit it, you two,” Wren said. “Warden Taka, really? Hiding from your own family? Shouldn’t you be out there?”

“Probably,” he replied, flippant.

“Will you go?”

“At some point.” He gave Wren his best roguish smile, satisfied when Wren snorted and turned away. “Doesn’t Aeveth look like she’s having fun? You’re right, I probably should be out there supporting her, but it’s also fun to watch her squirm a bit.”

Sparrow peered through the glass. “She just looks tired.”

Taka unlatched the door, pulling it open. “Trust me when I say she’s hating every second of this.”

“You told me not to trust you.”

He shut the door sharply. “I did not.”

“Did too.”

“I would never tell the truth so blatantly. It must have been someone else.”

“It was you.”

“Impossible,” Taka declared. “It must have been Michel.”

“No.”

“Liren.”

“Nope.”

“Betrayed by my own. It was Aeveth, wasn’t it?”

Sparrow folded her arms across her chest in a perfect imitation of Aeveth and stuck out a hip. “No. Pretty sure it was you.”

“I swear on my Grey Warden life that I never would tell anyone not to trust me.” Taka narrowed his eyes at her. “I don’t play counter to my own interests.”

An exasperated sigh from Wren. “Will you stop arguing with a child and get out there already?”

“Absolutely not. Was it Michel?”

“We don’t talk about you, Uncle Taka, nice try.”

Taka sniffed, pretending to be insulted. “Unconscionable. Who was it?”

“I told you,” Sparrow said with emphasis, “it was you!”

“Ah! I’ve got it now,” Taka said. “It was Carver. I’ll bet you real money it was Carver.”

Sparrow’s slight hesitation gave it away. “I...no, I thought it was you.”

“I understand if you get confused between the two of us because we’re the same height, but I must say Sparrow, I am the smarter one and also the better-looking one.” He scrambled aside as Wren broke between him and Sparrow, wrenching open the door. “Hey!”

“Just get out there and stop dithering!” she scolded him, grabbing him by the sleeve, directing him through the doorway. “This is your family, it’s the new year, you can’t avoid them, it’s the proper thing to do to stand with Aeveth and Michel to greet blood kin, and Carver clearly has the upper hand when it comes to being handsome and having muscles. Get out!” Wren slammed the door shut, using it as punctuation.

“What?!” Taka exclaimed, whipping himself around to face the door, actually somewhat insulted this time. He slapped it once. “What in Andraste’s -”

“Taka!” Aeveth called out, interrupting him. “So good of you to spare a minute from your duties to join us!”

There was really nothing he could do with such an obvious lead except take it. He pivoted smoothly, assuming the amused expression his family had long associated with him, and began walking towards Aeveth, strategies forming in his head on how to best extract himself.

“Only a minute,” he said to her once he reached her, bowing deeply to Laeth, Kelith, and Suira. The lie fell gracefully from his lips. “There’s always work to be done. But I wouldn’t miss my family for the world.”

*** *** ***

Taka ambled down the hallway to Aeveth’s office, the heels of his boots clicking soft and lazy against polished wooden floors. Though it was midday and sunny enough to squint outside, the window at the far end only let in so much light, and so the sconces had been lit, lending warmth to the austere, white walls.

Aeveth had done well enough with Sanctuary’s interior decoration, outfitting the estate with well-made, simple pieces of furniture and mosaics taken from Skyhold’s collection. She was not much for extravagance, which was a direct contrast to the main Trevelyan estate in Ostwick. Taka was sure Laeth and Kelith would find the change in scenery jarring, Laeth especially. Sanctuary felt open and welcoming, and the lack of expensive knickknacks being displayed on every flat surface was a large reason why.

Taka suspected Aeveth wouldn’t even have heraldry if not for Liren. In Skyhold appearances were kept up by Josephine; that duty had passed to Liren after the Inquisition disbanded. At her insistence Inquisition banners were hung in the foyer, with the rest of the collection in multiple other rooms. The Orlesian banner Liren had placed in the library where it shared space with the hundreds if not thousands of books Aeveth had imported from Skyhold. The dining room was home to the Dalish banner, which used to face the giant portrait Taka had commissioned, and had since been replaced with a Free Marches banner.

He snickered to himself a little upon thinking about it. That project had cost more than he’d anticipated, but the payoff was worth it even if he had to bribe Liren extra to leave the painting up for as long as she could weather Aeveth’s temper. She’d done an admirable job.

Taka knocked on the heavy oak door, listening for voices and footsteps. Kelith’s he recognized, the same with his uncle Laeth. The higher-pitched voice had to be Suira; the light footfalls approaching had to be hers as well.

“Future cousin!” he greeted her as the door opened, giving her a smile as sunny as the day was bright, eclipsing the confusion that flashed over her face. He embraced her briefly. “It’s been three days, that’s long enough to hug, yes? My apologies for interrupting.”

“Takaleth,” his uncle said, turning stern-faced to him, “if you could stand outside and give us a few moments -”

“Please come in, Taka.” Aeveth stood up, bracing herself on her arm as she leaned forward over her desk. The crystals in her earrings caught the sunlight slanting in through the window, scattering bright points over the Circle of Magi banner that hung heavy behind her.

He entered, deliberately keeping from winking at her. A quick glance around showed his family hiding their surprise well, even Suira. She had to be at least somewhat good at this, Taka reasoned, or else Kelith wouldn’t want anything to do with her. Kelith had good qualities, but unyielding perfectionism wasn’t one of them.

Aeveth smiled faintly at him. “I apologize for not having enough chairs. We were not expecting you.”

A lie, that. Aeveth had caught him at breakfast to inform him that the meeting would take place soon, and to find her in her office after lunch. “No problem,” Taka said, cheerful. “A Grey Warden has no need of chairs. Duty sustains us.”

“As I recall,” Aeveth responded, her lips twitching, “food sustains you.”

“Yes,” Laeth said. “And gossip.”

Taka put a hand to his chest, affronted. “Who, me? This is just a family gathering isn’t it? No gossip to be had here. I am but a simple guest seeking his hostess to discuss matters of little importance, such as the decor. You have quite the collection of spellbooks, Aeveth. Enough to rival a circle.”

“If that’s so, then you can forgive me for asking you to wait without.” Kelith was unamused at Taka’s needling, but that was characteristic of him. The penchant for pranks stopped at Aeveth.

Taka raised an eyebrow. “So you admit there’s gossip.”

“If you consider a formal meeting to introduce my betrothed gossip, I concede.”

“Anywhere we’re gathered there’s gossip, Kel.” Taka flashed a signature smile, let it widen as he caught the annoyance in his cousin’s eyes at the informal address. “So tell me all about it. What’s going on here?”

“I have already said.”

“If it’s so formal, shouldn’t Aeveth’s husband be here? Unless you’re lying to me, which you are, and I shouldn’t bat around the bush anymore.” Taka sauntered over to Aeveth’s desk and leaned a hip against it.

“A bit too strong, Taka, we’d just started.” Aeveth made a wry face. “And arraying yourself with me?”

“Cousin dearest, I came to have a good time, and that’s being threatened right now. It’s the new year, though it’s possible they might have forgotten.” Taka gestured vaguely at the rest of their family. “Contrary to what one might think, my job isn’t all fun and games. I’m going to be dead sooner or later, which puts an end to the fun. It makes one less patient with games, which are incidentally less fun these days as well. My apologies to Suira, who likely doesn’t know what she’s getting into.”

Aeveth sighed. “Oh, she knows.”

“This is Trevelyan business, not whatever-he’s-calling-himself business.” Laeth folded his arms over his chest, lined face growing more lined as he scowled.

“Uncle, is that any way to refer to your son-in-law? How rude. They _are_ legally married, you know. They’re essentially one person.”

“Rude is you barging in on a conversation that has little to do with you, Takaleth, and rude is also you commenting on matters you don’t comprehend.”

“On the contrary. It hurts that you give me no credit for how deeply I understand you, uncle. What’s one more son in your family? His skill with a sword almost makes up for him being Orlesian.” And a commoner, which Taka wisely refrained from mentioning.

“Poking the bear again, Taka?” Aeveth laughed, but there was no joy in it.

Taka laughed with her. “What’s he going to do, kill me? Uncle, didn’t you say this was Trevelyan business? I’m a Trevelyan, am I not? Here I am. In your business.” 

He stood, shifting into the stance that got the recruits to pay attention without him saying a word. “Like I said, you are killing what little fun I get to have with my favorite cousin. I sense my death approaching, and I want to leave knowing those I care about will be looked after. As I care about my cousin and her well-being, especially after she’s saved all of us from certain death, I have particular concerns over re-opening inheritance discussions considering the truce brokered last time.”

Kelith drew in a breath, then met Taka’s eyes. “And do you care about the rest of your family, Taka?”

“To be frank, Kel,” Taka replied, flippant, “you are all shits. Do I care? Not really. Am I loyal? Yes. Because I’m loyal, I apologize again to Suira for marrying into a family of shits, the exception being Aeveth, who is only a shit half the time -”

“Thanks, Taka.”

“- unless you too are a shit, Suira, in which case you’re welcome to them.”

“Always making it about you.” Aeveth fingered one of her earrings idly. “But I agree. Well, since everything is in the open, I didn’t appreciate how you approached this, Father. If not for Taka you would have found a much colder reception on arrival.” She exhaled, blowing breath out from between pursed lips. “How refreshing to be this candid. Thank you, Taka.”

“You all really should thank me.” Taka chuckled. “See? Told you I’m loyal. Uncle, you’re sleeping in fine quarters under the Inquisitor’s care instead of some inn in Hightown you can ill afford.”

Aeveth shifted then, tapping her chin with a finger. “That is an interesting point, Taka. If I am not mistaken, Suira, your dowry should be more than sufficient for my family’s needs.”

Suira blinked twice, then folded her hands in front of her. Taka noted the cut and drape of her dress, the deep red dye of the finely-woven cotton, and the satin trim on the hem. “I was not present for the negotiations, my lady. I go to your family bringing only myself, my faith, and my love. All the rest is immaterial.”

Aeveth sighed and shook her head. “She really is perfect, isn’t she? Well done Kelith, you’ve found a chantry sister.”

“Hey now,” Taka interjected, “not all chantry sisters -”

“Shut your mouth, Takaleth!” Laeth snapped. “Were that your sister were here instead of you.”

“Maker forbid,” Taka said, rolling his eyes. “Raeneth is the biggest stick in the mud I know and she can’t piss you off half as well as I can. Spit it out, uncle. How much of a cut of Aeveth’s inheritance do you want? I recall Kel taking a disproportionate percentage last time. Were you planning on leaving her destitute?”

“You can give her your share,” Kelith suggested, his voice saccharine sweet.

“Now now,” Taka returned, just as sweet, “why take mine when she can have what is rightfully hers?”

“I yielded to you more than half of what I won from Minhe, Kelith.” Aeveth drew herself up, the crystals in her earrings glowing green. Taka swore the ambient temperature in the room dropped a few degrees, though Aeveth was already capable of doing that without magic. 

“Are you truly here to demand more, or can we all pretend we are here because Mother would have wanted us to get closer?”

“Always so suspicious, Veth-ah.” Laeth unfolded his long legs, his trousers rustling. “Am I not allowed to visit my daughter in her estate for the new year?”

Aeveth narrowed her eyes. “It’s like she’s still with us, passive aggressively making statements designed to incite the most guilt possible. No, Father, not when you play this way. And do not call me that name. You lost the right to call me that decades ago.”

“Elder sister,” Kelith said, voice soft, “we are trying to make up for that. Can’t you see?”

Taka kept his face still, but winced internally. Kelith would find out soon how badly he’d just misstepped.

Aeveth matched her tone to her brother’s. “That is why you are here in good faith?”

“Of course.”

“That is why you have brought Suira to meet me?”

“It is an honor for her, sister.”

“And that is why you, in good faith, failed to inform me of such an important meeting?”

Kelith shifted, spreading his hands out palms up in front of him. “I apologize again, but we cannot predict when misfortune will strike the message birds.”

“Nor could you predict that Taka would find said messenger bird dead en route to Weisshaupt, and rush to inform me out of duty and piety.”

“Far-fetched, I know.” Kelith sighed, suddenly looking worn. Taka almost applauded at the act.

“As far-fetched as the story of the bird being diverted or killed before the message could be delivered.” Aeveth scoffed. “You said you wanted to mend the rift in good faith.”

“Those were not my exact words -”

“Semantics bore me right now. This is what I heard: Father wants to make up for past transgressions, Suira wants to meet the Inquisitor to her own advantage, and you are dissatisfied for whatever reason with the incomplete victory you scored over Mother’s cooling body.” Aeveth glared, and a spark of light flared in her eyes.

“Absolute dominance has a better ring to it.” Taka grinned, then shrugged a shoulder. “And also the path of least resistance.”

Aeveth gripped the edge of her desk hard enough to etch her knuckles through her skin. “I will have what is rightfully mine no matter the treatment I have suffered, Kelith. Father.”

“Consider also the harm that was done to me, sister,” Kelith said, a note of pleading in his voice. “Father and I are not united in this. When you were sent away, I lost a sister. We should have grown up together, shared in mischief, been each other’s confidantes.”

Taka snorted loudly and almost rolled his eyes. The nerve. Losing Aeveth to the Circle had hit him harder than it did Kelith, who had been a baby in a sling at the time. “Like you know what mischief is, Kel.”

Kelith ignored him. “I did say in good faith. I want to know the sister I never had. And I want her to celebrate with me as I marry the love of my life.”

The look Kelith and Suira shared then almost made Taka vomit. The worst thing was that he couldn’t tell whether or not it was real, which was troubling.

“You expect me to have sympathy for you, Kelith?” Aeveth’s demeanor grew icier, if that was even possible. “You who lost a sister, versus me who lost an entire life? You will never know what I have been through. You will never know what I have sacrificed to survive. Such a tragic miscalculation in your strategy only speaks to the level of sheer ignorance you hold regarding who I am.”

“I have tried,” Kelith began.

Aeveth cut him off, turning her body towards Laeth. “And you, Father?”

Was that sadness on his uncle’s face? Laeth’s voice was subdued as he spoke. “What an asset to our family you could have been, Veth-ah. The way you play...”

“A pity you threw your child into the arms of the chantry the second you realized what kind of monster you produced.”

“What choice did we have?” Laeth made a helpless gesture. “The Trevelyans are a family of the Order.”

“Your choice was to treat me as if I were alive and not dead. The templars in Ostwick did not withhold correspondence. I see you have not refuted the monster bit.” Aeveth laughed, bitter.

“I have not had the chance.”

“You have it right now.”

Silence.

Taka began admiring the carpets.

“You,” Laeth said, then halted. “You are, after your experiences…walking the Fade, battling magisters, standing with gods… You are more god than human, Veth-ah. You are not the little girl who brought me wildflowers, her dress covered in mud.”

Aeveth looked away, closing her eyes, biting down on her lower lip. It took a moment before she could reply, and in that moment it seemed to Taka that Aeveth shrank in on herself, diminishing. His heart went out to her. 

“I am more human than you think, Father.”

And then it passed. In the time it took to stand fully Aeveth was able to sever herself from her emotions, her eyes once again impassive and cool, distant. “This meeting is over. I suggest you gather tonight and re-strategize on how best to spend the rest of your time at Sanctuary. Kelith said he was here in good faith. It’s the new year, and because of that I am willing to take him at face value.”

Taka whistled. “You’re giving them another chance, Aeveth?”

“For Kelith and Suira,” Aeveth said. “For the sister he never knew, and the little girl who still loves wildflowers.”

Laeth stood. “Veth-ah -”

“Leave.” Aeveth put her back to the room and went to a window to look outside. “All of you.”

Taka was the last to exit, shutting the door so softly the latch didn’t even click. He sighed heavily, then looked at his uncle and cousin. “You blew it.”

Laeth’s nostrils flared. “Not now, Takaleth.”

“I’m not trying to tease you, I’m being serious. I warned you against this before you came, and you didn’t listen. You blew it.”

“Whose side are you on, anyway?” The corners of Kelith’s mouth pulled down in a scowl.

“After all that theater in there you couldn’t figure it out?” Taka’s laugh was derisive, edged with bright metal. “Aeveth’s, of course. I wasn’t lying when I said you were all shits. You are, every last one of you, and you deserve the treatment you get.”

“You’re a shit as well, Takaleth.”

“Ah finally, Suira speaks. I didn’t know the word was in your vocabulary, Suira. And yes, I’m a shit, but unlike all of you, I acknowledge and embrace it.” Taka grinned, a cutting thing. “If you will all excuse me, I have to go find Michel. I am sure you have things to discuss, and I won’t get in the way of that.”

He kept the grin on as he spun on his foot, walking briskly down the hall, charting a path to the stables.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quickly edited, so I apologize for inconsistencies...and the length, as this was definitely not what I was planning. The last part of this is mostly written already, so this set will finish soon!


	7. Double Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last of this year's Thedosian Lunar New Year shorts! Wren hits upon some painful truths, and Michel finally shows up.

“Mama, look!”

Wren turned her head to see Sparrow standing next to her, holding out a lantern in the shape of a bird. Her daughter grinned, making the paper lantern bob, the flame inside snapping to and fro. “Look what it is!”

“A sparrow, is it?” Wren leaned harder onto the pole she was holding, driving it further into the sod, rotating it so it would be deep enough to hold a line with a dozen lanterns. Others were doing the same at regular intervals around the granite flagstones of Sanctuary’s courtyard.

“Yes!” Sparrow exclaimed. “Well, it’s kind of a sparrow. It's related. Auntie Aeveth says it’s a teabird because it sings ‘drink your tea-hee-hee-hee.’ When you’re done, mama, there’s one for you too! Auntie Aeveth got them for us specially.”

Wren twisted the pole back and forth, wedging it into the winter ground. “I still have to finish helping out, sweet. Maybe you can bring it here, and we’ll hang it once the lines are all up?”

Sparrow shook her head. “No, Auntie Aeveth has a spot for us to put them already. She wants them over the front gate.”

“The front gate?” Surprised, Wren lifted her head, searching for Aeveth. She was standing by the gate, off to the side, conversing with Rylen as he carefully unfolded sky lantern after sky lantern.

“She was very pacific about us hanging them there. Said that our lanterns were the best ones and we have to show them off.” Sparrow leaned in, conspiratorial, and jiggled the stick of her lantern, making the black bird with a white and orange belly dance. “I agree.”

Wren snorted. “Specific, not pacific. You’re spending too much time around Warden Taka, I see.”

“Specific. What do you mean, mama?” Sparrow cocked her head, her eyes shining with fake innocence.

“Vanity isn’t becoming, and that man is very vain.” Wren frowned at the pole.

“I am indeed quite vain, and I accept the compliment.” Taka grinned as Wren jumped and gasped in surprise. She followed it up with a glare and a huff. “It isn’t a bad thing to take credit when it’s given, even if it isn’t yours. By rights we should be complimenting the lantern maker, but seeing as he isn’t here, and these lanterns are yours, you should do as my cousin says, and show them off. They’re the best, after all. Do you need help with that?”

“I’ve got it -” Wren began, but Taka reached over, grasped the pole, and set it decisively into the ground.

“- covered,” she finished. “Thank you, I guess.”

“You’re welcome, I guess. That was all muscle, you know.” Taka winked at Sparrow.

Wren’s eyes darted to the side, glancing at Carver just within the confines of her periphery. “You’re going to be sore about that forever, aren’t you?”

“I don’t forget slights, Miss Wren.” 

Taka’s rakish grin had its intended effect, sending heat into her cheeks. “Calling me Miss Wren. Stop teasing me.”

“Only if you’ll admit I’m more handsome and I have nicer muscles. And how is that teasing, pray tell? You are still a young woman, and single.”

More heat. Wren was sure Taka knew too from the way his smile widened. Her only choice was to force him onto his heels. “You are a shameless flirt, Warden Taka.”

The man practically struck a pose. “Guilty as charged.”

“So when will you put the moves on Carver?”

Taka threw his head back and laughed. “Carver?!”

“Yes, Carver.” It was Wren’s turn to be sly. “You act like a boy in the chantry yard around him. I’ve seen it countless times.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re getting at, Miss Wren.”

Wren pursed her lips, amused. “Is that so? Am I the first one to point it out to you? Being on the road with him likely means you don’t get to see a lot of people.”

“That doesn’t mean anything, and you know it. Carver Hawke, truly?” Taka huffed. “He’s my partner and nothing more.”

“Just an assignment then?”

“All right, perhaps a bit more than simply an assignment. We’re a team.”

“A very tightly-knit team. I’m sure you’ve seen each other in all sorts of states. Tended to each other’s wounds after battle. Watched each other’s backs. How many years have you been together?” Wren had to admit she enjoyed this, applying pressure bit by bit.

“Too many years, Miss Wren.” Taka stuck his hands on his hips. “We’re partners, and that’s it.”

“You can’t fool me, Warden Taka.” Wren looked to Sparrow, who had hidden her mouth with her fists. “What do you think, Sparrow?”

“You understand that even if Sparrow runs to Carver to tattle, he won’t believe a single word?”

Wren chuckled. “But don’t you wish he would?”

Taka’s smile fell for a split second before he picked it up again, as bright and mischievous as before. “Now why in Andraste’s name would I wish for that? Come, Miss Wren, let’s go hang the lanterns.”

Wren raised an eyebrow as Taka strode away, then shared a look with Sparrow. “Mama,” she said, “should I tell Warden Carver that Taka wants to kiss him the way that Hillas kisses her girlfriend?”

She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laugh. “Oh, my sweet. Best not. Let them work that out between themselves. Wouldn't that be something for new year's, though?”

*** *** ***

They strung up lanterns among the rays of the setting sun, the pinking horizon a backdrop to dozens of softly glowing lights. As they worked, Bea and her staff brought out long tables onto which they set bowls of dessert soup, which Aeveth and her family said was tradition for the first full moon of the year. 

Michel watched as Sparrow inspected each bowl, most likely looking for the one filled with the most sticky rice balls. “Here,” he said quietly, picking up a bowl and spoon, ladling the soup balls into a second bowl.

Sparrow grinned up at him. “Can I have only the pink ones, Ser Michel?”

He paused, then eyed her.

“Please?” She offered up an extra wide smile.

Michel grunted. “Get them yourself. I saw nothing.”

He left Sparrow to her own devices, a bowl of soup in his hand as he picked his way back to Aeveth. Every so often he glanced at the sky lanterns drifting up and over the rooftops of Hightown. There were at least a score of them, and as he approached her he thought suddenly about the threat the lanterns could pose to buildings. In the slums of Montfort the tenements were poorly-constructed and prone to burning, and even the slightest spark during the dry months could set homes ablaze. Though Kirkwall was more damp, the alienage wasn’t much different.

He shook himself of the thoughts once he reached Aeveth’s side, frowning at the intrusion. Fires in the alienage were not his concern tonight, though truth be told they weren’t ever his concern. That belonged to Varric and whoever he had set to govern that district. Besides, Aeveth and Wren would not be so inconsiderate as to allow Kirkwall to burn, no matter the opinions Aeveth vented to him in private.

“Something troubling you?” she asked, turning her attention from the lanterns to him. Though she didn’t show it, Michel strongly suspected she was keeping track of each one of them. Wren was not yet skilled enough for work this fine, and Aeveth’s training lately had been dedicated to small-scale, highly-detailed spellcasting.

“It’s nothing. Just an errant thought.” He offered her the bowl.

“If you are wondering about the lanterns…” She smiled faintly, looking up at the lanterns, the light of the lit wicks catching like stars in her dark eyes. 

He finished the sentence for her. “...you have them under control, and I shouldn’t have worried.”

“I do have them under control,” Aeveth said, shaking her head, pushing the bowl away, “but you worrying is a good sign, Michel. It means you have feelings.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean, your Worship,” he deadpanned, returning her short laugh with a smile of his own. “You aren’t hungry? Taka said you love these.”

Aeveth shook her head again, lifting her right hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, crystal earring swinging as her fingers brushed by. “I do, but…”

Michel frowned. She did look a bit ashen. “Again? I had thought you recovered this morning.”

“And the morning before that, and before that.” Aeveth took the bowl from him reluctantly, spooned out a pink soup ball, and opened her mouth. Then she closed it, her teeth clicking. “Oh, no. No, no. Michel, I can’t. You’ll have to…” 

She shoved the bowl and spoon back at him. He fumbled it, but managed to keep the soup from spilling over. “Maker,” Aeveth said, swallowing and breathing hard, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what continually ails me, but I hate it.”

“Will you ask Wren to examine you?” Curious, Michel tried one of the soup balls. They were a bit chewy and lightly sweet, and overall not distasteful though he wouldn’t mark them down as a favorite. He finished the bowl nonetheless, not wanting to be rude. 

“She is so busy with the clinic, I couldn’t impose. I do think this is on the way out, however. Perhaps I need to rest more, or go down to the glyph every day until it’s all gone.”

“My heart,” he began.

“I know.” Aeveth touched his cheek briefly with the backs of her fingers. “I know you don’t like it. It helps, it truly does. I feel like my old self when I come up.”

Her old self. Michel tried not to think about what Aeveth had been like last spring when they had gone together to Sanctuary’s farm outside Kirkwall. They had left with the task of rotating the horses out, but instead of returning immediately, they’d stayed to celebrate Aeveth’s birthday. She had been lively then, full of spirit, her skin kissed a rich brown by the sun as she laid in the pasture with Keeper, and her laughter came easy and free.

That had been before her mother’s passing, and before the demons. Michel kept himself from putting a hand on his stomach over the scar. Aeveth sighed quietly, glancing towards the lanterns, her hand coming to a rest over her stomach where she too bore a scar, the twin to his.

“Perhaps you will feel like your old self sooner than you think, without having to use the glyph.” Michel was now remarkably tolerant of magic, seeing as ten years ago the mere mention of it made him tense with dread. Living without incident in Skyhold and Sanctuary had helped greatly to assuage his fears. But he could only go so far.

“Oh?” Aeveth looked back at him; above, the lanterns were guttering out. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean,” Michel replied, “that I have something for you which may help, but you will need to come with me.”

“And leave the party early?” He could practically see the wheels turning in her head. “It must be something for you to suggest breaking etiquette.”

Michel offered her his arm and a smile. “I have not said anything of the sort, but since you have brought it up first, yes it is. I am heartened by your faith in me.”

“Ass,” she said fondly, taking his arm, slipping her fingers around the inside of his elbow. “Let’s go now, while Father and Kelith are looking.”

Michel managed not to snort, and together they turned for Sanctuary’s front doors, Aeveth walking as tall and proud as if she were in Orlesian court. One whiff of weakness and her family would break the truce as easily as a thread of silk, flocking to her side with false concern. She had to keep up appearances, and if Michel were completely honest with himself, he might admit he relished antagonizing his father-in-law. Bann Laeth Trevelyan was poetry with a sword and admirably disciplined, but Michel’s respect stopped there.

As they passed a side table Michel set the bowl down, confident someone would get it later. “Aeveth,” he said when he heard the door shut behind them. “It’s all right. No one’s watching.”

She sagged, her knees buckling. Michel caught her weight, bracing himself in the middle of the hallway. For a moment she clung to him.

“Aeveth,” he said, worried.

“It’s fine,” she replied, drawing in a deep breath, her eyes squeezing shut. Beneath her feet, something flared white. Her earrings glowed green in response.

“It is not fine. You need sleep, not magic. Fortunately, what I had planned is in our room.” Michel wrapped an arm around her waist to help keep her upright as they resumed walking.

Aeveth straightened, and Michel had to admire once again her fortitude. “I don’t think I’m in the right state, Michel.”

“I do not think you are either, my heart, if I am correct about what you’re implying.”

“Then why go to our room?”

“That is a surprise.” Michel briefly considered carrying Aeveth up the stairs, but jettisoned the idea immediately. The only way he’d ever be allowed to threshold carry her was if she were unconscious. “Hold out a little longer. We’re almost there.”

Tired she may have been, but not tired enough to keep from returning fire. “I know my own house, thank you.”

He elected not to engage, and the rest of the walk was made in silence. “Close your eyes,” Michel said once they arrived at the door.

Aeveth lifted an eyebrow at him, then said, “All right.”

“Keep them closed.” He pushed open the door, took her hand, and led her in. “No peeking.”

“I’m not!”

“Stand here.” Michel guided her to a spot in the center of their room, then rotated her to a better angle. “Wait a moment,” he said as he went to close the door. “All right, you can open your -”

Aeveth’s gasp cut through the rest of his words. “Michel!” She whipped herself around to look at him, surprise on her face. 

Round red lanterns, each one lit, hung crowded in long, crisscrossing strings under the ceiling. Aeveth covered her mouth and gazed up at the canopy of light, then turned to look at each corner of the room, where multicolored square lanterns hung upon stands. Tiny lanterns in the shape of lotus flowers dangled above their bed, and both bedside tables held vases jammed with roses.

“Yes, my heart?” He couldn’t help but smile at her delight as she turned this way and that, taking in the changes.

“How and when?” Aeveth walked to the bed, reaching up to tap a finger against a flower lantern, smiling as it swayed back and forth. She then bent close to the roses and breathed in. “They’re so lovely. Everything is lovely, Michel. Thank you.”

“Liren helped me, and the reason why we were late to the lantern-lighting was because of this.” He continued to speak as Aeveth returned, hugging him tight enough to make his ribs creak. “I am glad you like it. I thought you might appreciate this little thing after the last two weeks. The last several months.” He closed his eyes, embracing her carefully, recalling the day Taka had sent for him after a family spat. Aeveth had been unwell then too, and they’d stood together by her office window, her forehead heavy against his shoulder as he’d pressed his thumb into the inside of her wrist.

“Maker, I do. I do, I really do.” Aeveth drew in another long breath. “This almost makes me forget how ill I’m feeling. Thank you, my love.”

“You should rest.” Michel let go of her, troubled at how thin she felt in his arms. Aeveth’s body had suffered repeatedly during her time as inquisitor, and life was no less interesting these days. She often called herself retired, but Michel was fairly sure that retirement did not come packaged with impalation. A carefree life was the one Aeveth deserved, without demons or meddling family or a large estate to run, no matter that it was by choice.

Aeveth pulled him down for a kiss, her lips lingering on his. Michel exhaled through his nose at the tenderness of it; something twinged in his chest. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I have to go back.”

“Let me handle it. You need sleep, my heart. You can barely stand.”

“I can stand. You’re just so nice to lean on.”

“My heart, if I stepped away right now, I have little doubt you’d fall.”

“My dearest love, if you stepped away right now, all that would do is allow me to admire you properly. You look quite handsome in your new clothes.”

“You cannot redirect me, Aeveth.” Michel kissed her on the cheek. “You know it doesn’t work.”

She huffed. “You let it work sometimes.”

“Yes, but not this time. Rest. I will take care of our guests. Some of them have little trust in my capabilities.” He could be charming and nice when the situation called for it. Ten years in court had taught him that much, taught him how to turn courtesy into pleasantry and give smiles just warm enough to seem personable.

Michel knew he’d won when Aeveth lifted her chin, presenting her high collar with its frog closures. “Go prove them wrong. Also, taking care of them means not running them through with your sword, de Chevin.”

“That is unfair of you. I have more restraint than that.” One by one Michel undid the closures, exposing the skin of Aeveth’s throat, his fingers brushing lightly over the silverite chain she wore. He held back from kissing her collarbone as it was revealed, and the spots behind her ears as he undid her earrings. 

“You,” he said, his hands moving to her side, following the line of closures, “just wish I had less.”

“Fratricide is a crime,” she murmured, shrugging her left shoulder out of her silk dress.

“How unfortunate for you.” He laughed quietly at her expression. “They will leave tomorrow, and we shall have peace.”

Aeveth extracted her right arm from the dress, allowing it to fall to the floor. “For a whole year, Maker willing.”

“Maker willing.” Michel brought over a light tunic and woolen pants, and helped Aeveth finish changing. “My heart, I expect you to be asleep by the time I come back.”

“Michel, you can expect me to be asleep before you even leave our room.”

“Teeth?”

“You’re joking. I haven’t eaten anything.” Aeveth’s mouth set into a stubborn pout as she flipped the covers back and sat heavily on the bed. “I’m going to sleep now.”

He sighed, still troubled. “Rest well, dentistry aside.”

“Ass.” Covers rustled. Then, “Michel?”

He halted, a hand hovering over the door latch. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading everyone, and indulging me as I cut and paste my cultural traditions into Thedas.


End file.
